by Jim C. Hines
“If the need arises, yes.”
“Good.” Gerta kicked mud over the exposed slivers of glass, then stepped past him and plunged her hands into the flame before he could stop her. In a low voice that barely carried over the sound of the fire, she said, “Please let Laurence know that his cousin, Princess Rose Gertrude Curtana, wishes to speak with him.”
The Stormcrows moved with impressive speed. Gerta barely had time to remove her hands from the wall before two more armored Stormcrows stepped through to seize her arms.
Talia dropped into a low stance. One hand went to her sword. The remaining Stormcrow, the officer, raised his hands and spread his fingers in response. Talia’s lips pulled back, and her heart beat faster. She should have no problem taking him out before he could cast a spell, but his companions were another matter.
“Don’t,” Danielle said softly. “It’s not like we can fight our way through this wall.”
“How will you know unless you try?” But Talia forced herself to relax.
The Stormcrow lowered his hands, though he kept a wary eye on Talia. “The king says to bring them in.” To Danielle, he said, “My name is Forssel, Captain of the northern wing of the King’s Stormcrows. These are Colville and Vachel. We’ll be escorting you to the palace.”
Talia relayed the man’s introduction, as well as Danielle’s thanks. The Stormcrows didn’t bother to take their weapons. Given the way Colville and Vachel were eyeing them, Talia didn’t believe for a moment the Stormcrows trusted their guests, which meant they didn’t think weapons would matter. She glanced at the scorched starburst on the ground where blue fire had incinerated Snow’s wasps. They were probably right.
“Take my hand as we pass through the wall,” said Forssel. “Keep your heads low, and let me go first. Otherwise, your bodies will be little more than charcoal when you tumble out the other side. There’s no air, so don’t try to breathe. Colville will remain here to retrieve the remains of those creatures.”
One by one, the Stormcrows led them into the city. Talia was the last to grip Forssel’s hand and approach the blue flames. The heat was almost unbearable, emanating as much from Forssel’s armor as the fire itself. When he neared the wall, fire leaped to meet him, dancing over his helm and through his armor. Sparks followed the gold patterns in his mail, jumping to the ground when they reached the bottom.
Talia had prepared herself for the light and the heat, but not the wind. Her hair rose, and her cape flapped as the air rushed upward past her body. Sparks burst from the edges of the cape as the wolf’s enchantments interacted with the dragon fire. The wall was thicker than she had realized. It was four paces before she emerged on the other side.
She stepped away from the flames, blinking the dryness from her eyes. The others were waiting, and appeared unharmed.
“Welcome to Kanustius,” said Forssel, backing to what was considered a polite distance in Allesandria. Still close enough for Talia to reach him with her sword, if necessary.
The streets were paved in red-tinged stone, cutting tight paths between low, blocky buildings. Smoke rose from most of the chimneys. Painted knot work, mostly in blues and whites, trimmed the doors and the narrow windows.
The air was far too quiet for a city of this size. Talia could see people watching through cracked shutters. Those on the streets moved quickly, looking straight ahead.
“This is how things felt when my mother ruled,” Gerta said softly. She stared like a newcomer, her forehead wrinkled as she took in her surroundings. “Smothered by fear. No one was allowed in the streets after dark without a permit.”
“The curfew was overturned years ago,” said Forssel. “The blue wall serves as a warning to the people as well as a defense. They keep to their homes, trusting the king to deal with the threat. But the wall has been raised for several days now, and tensions are growing.”
“How did it begin?” asked Danielle.
“Every city is under heightened alert,” he said. “We’ve been hunting Snow White ever since the murder of Lord Ollear.”
“Yet she remains free,” Talia observed.
Forssel didn’t appear to take offense. “Allesandria is well protected against invasion. Whole armies have entered our woods, never to emerge. Lyskar once attempted to expand their borders. The king of Allesandria turned the very mountains against them. But Snow knows the land, and she travels alone.
“Alone?” Danielle repeated sharply.
“She’s scattered her followers. They move singly, or in small groups.” His face tightened. “Yesterday, a seer from the university dreamed a silver cloud raced inland from the harbor. King Lawrence sent a full unit of Stormcrows to intercept the cloud.”
“What happened?” asked Gerta.
“It wasn’t a cloud, but a swarm. Hundreds of those damned things racing toward the capital. The Stormcrows’ spells were reflected back upon those who cast them. Six were killed instantly by their own magic.”
“The mirrors.”
His face tightened. “Exactly. Much like the protective charms Queen Curtana would wear to guard herself from attack.” He glanced at the other Stormcrows. “The rest were stung. We’ve been forced to kill three of our own people today.” He touched his hand to his heart and whispered three names, presumably those of the fallen Stormcrows.
“I’m sorry.” Gerta repeated the names. “The palace is north of here. Where are you taking us?”
“There’s a quicker way, and safer, if any of Snow White’s slaves have infiltrated the city and are watching.” He pointed to a stone building at the end of a street lined with inns and bars.
“An icehouse?” Gerta asked. The building was squat, not even a full story high. “I don’t understand.”
“Could this be a trick?” Danielle asked softly. Talia wasn’t sure whether the Stormcrows spoke the tongue of Lorindar, but neither of them reacted.
“A little late for that question.” Talia shook her head. “Nothing’s certain, but if they wanted us dead or captured, there are easier ways to go about it.”
Vachel unlocked the icehouse door. It was twice as thick as a normal door. Fog spilled into the street, and Talia glimpsed large blocks of ice stacked against the walls inside. Straw lined the stone walls and carpeted the floor, save for a wooden trapdoor in the center of the room.
“Watch the steps,” Forssel said as he led them inside and hauled open the trapdoor, revealing a narrow staircase.
“You’re not worried about people discovering your secret way into the palace?” asked Talia.
Forssel grinned. “Anyone watching saw a group of workers coming in for ice. A charm of suggestion, not true illusion. It dampens curiosity, and as they wander away, their minds will convince them they saw us emerge hauling a block back to a nearby tavern.”
Candlelight flickered to life from Forssel’s fingertips. Vachel hauled the door shut. There were no windows, and the single flame didn’t provide much light. Talia stepped carefully, testing each step as she descended after Forssel. Inside, the air stank of magic.
Downstairs was even colder. She pulled her cape tight, but couldn’t block the icy air that snuck through the layers to chill her skin. The floor was crushed gravel. Larger blocks of ice lined three walls. A variety of hammers and chisels hung from the fourth.
“In summer, this room is filled and sealed off,” said Forssel. “But for winter, the people move smaller blocks upstairs for easier access. Runoff from the streets, magically purified, feeds into this room through the pipes in the corners.”
“I see no passageway or tunnel.” Talia kept her hands in her sleeves.
“It’s here.” Gerta squinted at the ice. “The enchantment isn’t in the ice, but in the pipes.”
Forssel frowned. “That’s right.” He stepped past Gerta and pressed his hands to the ice, which began to melt at an unnatural rate. Water poured down, splashing and disappearing into the gravel. When he stepped back, the outline of a doorway remained, perfectly carved in the ice.
“If you’re truly who you say, this will take you to the palace.”
“What if we’re not?” Talia asked.
Vachel chuckled. “In that case, it will take you . . . somewhere else.” He and Forssel backed toward the stairs, not so subtly blocking the only other way out.
Danielle straightened. “Thank you.” She touched a hand to the ice. Cold water dripped down her palm and trickled along her wrist.
Talia caught her shoulder. “I’m going first.”
“I thought you said this wasn’t a trap,” Danielle said.
“I did.” Talia touched the doorway. The door opened inward, revealing a dark tunnel through the ice. “I’ve been wrong before.”
Talia stepped into the darkness. She had taken only two steps when a voice spoke from behind.
“You know, you’re much prettier when you smile.”
Talia spun. The ice room had vanished, replaced by old ruins and desert sand. Her friends were gone, as were the Stormcrows. In Forssel’s place stood Snow White, dressed in a yellow Kha’iida robe, her headscarf hanging loose from her neck.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Snow continued. “The smoldering look works for you, but I’ve always preferred your laughter.”
Talia’s sword shook in her hand. Snow’s face showed no sign of scars or cuts. Her hair was pure black, as it had been when they first met. Her eyes were wide, full of amusement, but it was the untainted joy in her laughter that convinced Talia to lower her weapon. “This is Arathea.”
Snow shrugged. “We had to leave in such a hurry the last time. We didn’t even have time for a proper tour of your homeland. This is the palace where you grew up, isn’t it?”
Talia turned about. The last time she was here, she had fought a fairy army. As if conjured by the thought, the sound of hoofbeats chilled her skin. Her sword snapped into a guard position. Howling filled the air, followed by screams. “The Wild Hunt?”
“They’re dreams, nothing more.”
Talia tried to calm her breathing, fighting memories of the destruction the Hunt had left in its wake. They were victims of an ancient fairy curse, twisted into the very embodiment of chaos and death. “So they can’t hurt us.”
“I never said that.” Snow’s lips quirked. “Dreams have power. You should know this.”
Talia snorted. “And you should know it’s been a while since I’ve dreamed.”
Snow acknowledged the point with a tilt of her head. “It’s a shame, really.” She stepped closer, sliding a hand up Talia’s arm. “Dreams can be quite . . . invigorating.”
Talia shivered. She was dressed similarly to Snow, in a jade robe and matching head scarf. Her red cape was gone, and with it her best hope of fighting the Wild Hunt.
“Don’t worry,” Snow said, tugging Talia’s scarf free. Real head scarves were thick, woven to protect the wearer from the desert sun. This one floated away like silk. “They’re not coming for you this time.”
Talia forced herself to pull away. “Are you real? Or is this some trick, an illusion cast by the demon?”
“If so, then you’re already lost,” Snow said matter-of-factly. “You might as well enjoy it.”
The Hunt was closer now. Talia could see the growing dust storm that marked their approach. “You said they weren’t coming for me. Who—?”
Snow gestured past Talia, to where Danielle and Gerta sat upon a crumbled wall, sharing some kind of green melon. Talia tried to shout a warning, but no words emerged. She started to run. Her feet sank into the sand, deeper with each step.
“You can’t protect us all,” said Snow.
“Watch me.” Talia snarled and turned to face the Wild Hunt. Dream or no, she still owed the Hunt for the things they had done in Arathea.
Lips brushed her cheek, but when she spun around, Snow was gone. The thunder of the Wild Hunt fell silent. Light faded, and cold air embraced her. She took a step, and the sand beneath her feet changed to wood.
Magic jolted her body, so sharp she felt as though her heart momentarily stopped beating. She found herself in a small, finely furnished sitting room. The floor was patterned wood tiles, alternating triangles of light-and dark-stained oak that made the shapes appear to rise from the floor. Gerta was already here, sitting in one of the blue high-backed chairs spread around a low table. There were no windows, though the painted vines and trees on the wall gave the illusion of being in the woods.
“Danielle should arrive shortly,” Gerta said.
“Thank you.” Talia was unsurprised to see only unbroken wall behind her. There was only a single door on the opposite side of the room. She tried the handle and found it locked. She heard nothing beyond. “That dream. What was it?”
“You think the king would allow strangers into his home without first examining their minds and motives?”
“He saw that, did he?” Talia retained both her weapons and the red cape. She pulled the latter tight, feeling exposed. “What happens if he doesn’t like what he sees?”
“In my mother’s day, they said you would emerge . . . elsewhere. Some say she had hundreds of rooms built into the foundation of the palace, coffin-sized chambers with no light and no way out. Nothing but darkness, too cramped even to move as you slowly starved to death.” She cocked her head. “Though I don’t know if my mother would trap you somewhere she couldn’t question you. Somewhere she couldn’t listen to your screams.”
Talia studied the portraits on the walls while she tried to squelch the need to tear out the throat of the king of Allesandria. A central painting in an arched, gold frame showed King Laurence and Queen Odelia. Smaller paintings to either side depicted their two children. The girl looked about five years old. The boy was closer to Jakob’s age. Both children were painted in the stiff, full-body pose that was popular these days.
She wondered how the king and queen had kept their children still long enough for the artist to paint them. She still remembered the trouble Danielle and Armand had gone to. In the end, Danielle had simply dressed a tailor’s dummy in Jakob’s clothes. The artist had added Jakob’s face and hands later.
Danielle emerged then, stumbling through an opening in the wall that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She clutched her sword in both hands, swinging downward at an unreal foe. The tip gouged the floor.
Talia darted forward and caught Danielle’s wrist, tugging the sword from her hand.
“I’m sorry,” said Danielle. She crouched to run a finger over the damage to the wooden tile. “Glasspaper should smooth out the damage, but it will need to be restained.” Her hands shook, giving the lie to her calm words.
Slowly and deliberately, Talia rested the tip of Danielle’s sword on the floor and leaned on the hilt.
“We’re guests here,” Danielle reminded her.
“You don’t greet ‘guests’ with visions of—” Talia swallowed, then handed the sword back to Danielle. “Are you all right?”
“We were back at the palace,” Danielle said. “Jakob was playing another of his hiding games. Armand and Snow were both there. Beatrice too, I think. But we couldn’t find him.”
“The king will be here soon,” said Gerta. “I can feel him studying me.” She pointed to the stained wood trim along the walls, like an intricately carved chair rail, only at chest height. “That runs unbroken through the entire palace, allowing the king and queen magical access to every room. My mother ordered it made, to better spy on her guests and servants.”
She seemed calm, almost bored, making Talia wonder what she had seen as she entered the room.
“I was running,” Gerta said, answering Talia’s unspoken question. “I couldn’t see whether it was Snow chasing me or something else, but then I recognized the dream magic.”
“What did you do?” asked Talia.
Gerta smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I stopped playing.”
The door opened, and a man in his late twenties entered. “She tried to pull me into the dream with her.”
“King Lauren
ce.” Danielle’s nod was rather less than the formal greeting of one noble to another, but the king didn’t appear to notice.
He was a heavyset man with pale skin and jet-black hair too perfect to be natural. A gold sash crossed his formal, thigh-length white jacket. Gleaming black boots came to the middle of his shins. He carried a scepter, a gold rod slightly shorter than a cane, topped with a simple circle of gold. He spoke the language of Lorindar with only the slightest accent. “Welcome to Allesandria, Princess Whiteshore. I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion into your minds.”
“You can hope,” Talia muttered.
Danielle shot a warning glare at Talia. “I trust you saw enough to confirm our identities, Your Majesty?”
“I saw that, and more.” He turned his attention to Gerta. “Forssel relayed your actions at the wall. Combined with your attempt to disrupt my dreamspell—”
“Attempt?” Gerta repeated.
The king seemed tired, but his wry smile reminded Talia a little of Snow. “It’s not every day a cousin I’ve never met enters the palace, accompanied by the Princess of Lorindar and the Lady of the Red Hood.”
“Talia’s not—” Danielle began.
“Here to kill anyone,” Talia finished. If he wanted to believe she was a legendary assassin, who was she to argue with a king? Laurence had certainly prepared as if she were the Lady of the Red Hood. Talia could smell the protective spells that encased him like dwarf-forged mail.
“You’re not the one I was worried about, Talia.” Laurence watched Gerta closely. “Everything I saw in your dreams suggests you’re who you claim, but I find it difficult to believe even Rose Curtana could have hidden you so thoroughly.”
“Long-lost heirs show up all the time,” Talia said.
“Not in Allesandria.” He gestured to the chairs. Both Danielle and Gerta sat, but Talia refused. It was another violation of Allesandrian manners, one which forced even a king to remain standing. “I saw your fears as well, Gerta. Like your friends, you fear for Ermillina. But there’s something more. You’re afraid of being reclaimed.”
“I was formed from her essence,” Gerta said.
